


Body Heat

by LadyTuesday



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Sharing Body Heat, Such a thin veil of plot, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 19:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTuesday/pseuds/LadyTuesday
Summary: Prompt fill based on my prompt on the I Am Johnlocked Facebook group:Prompt - John and Sherlock are on a case (details or not at your discretion) that ends up with them stuck together in a very, very cold location (again, details are your choice). Sherlock, know-it-all that he is, knows that the best way to conserve body heat is to have skin touching and since he has zero shame, suggests they strip down to conserve heat. Sexy times ensue. How NSFW you get is up to you (even if it's just pre-slash), but should be at least 250 words, no more than 1000. Post below and/or link if you post in outside sources.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely people over on the I Am Johnlocked FB group ... you inspire me to do wonderful, awful, dirty things to these boys. And I'm so proud that I managed to pair this down from 1347 words to 994, which (for me) is a HUGE accomplishment, given that I'm wordy as fuck.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

“Brilliant,” John grouses, “just bloody brilliant.”

Sherlock gives a heavy sigh and scans the space for the fifth time looking for an exit. “Yes, you’ve said. Multiple times. It’s not particularly helpful.”

“‘Don’t be ridiculous, John,’” the doctor snarks. He starts shifting from foot to foot and chaffing his hands against his sleeves. “The murderer wouldn’t abandon us in the middle of the forest in January! We’re the only ones with the combination to the safe, John!’”

The detective pins him back with a steely glare. “You’ve made your point, John.”

“Have I? Because we’re trapped in a shed in the middle of nowhere with no phone reception and only a vague idea that Lestrade _might_ know where we are but no idea _if_ he’ll save us before we _freeze to death.”_

Sherlock strides over swiftly. “I am well aware of our predicament, John. Blaming me won’t get us out of here, but by all means, use up all your oxygen if it makes you feel better.”

John returns his hot stare. “I’d punch you if the blood wouldn’t freeze on my hand and make me even colder.”

Sherlock starts to speak but then his eyes narrow at John and the anger drains from his face. “You’re not doing well, are you, John?”

“Of course not, you git! The wanker took my anorak when he left. I’m fucking freezing.”

Sherlock stares at him for another moment then unbuttons the Belstaff, pulls John into his chest, and wraps the jacket around the two of them. John jerks back in surprise but Sherlock’s arms lock around him and yank him forward again. The move presses John’s forehead into the hollow of Sherlock’s throat and his nose bumps against the detective’s collarbone.

“What are you—?”

“Keeping you warm, obviously.”

John blushes. “Good thing nobody’s here to see this.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock hums in agreement. “People would definitely talk.”

A ringing moment of silence passes before they both burst out laughing.

He chortles into the other man’s chest. “How do we even get ourselves into these situations?”

“I don’t know,” the detective returns, but he sobers quickly. “You were right about one thing, John: the cold is going to become a very serious problem very quickly. My mobile has the GPS on but only enough battery power for an hour or two. We risk hypothermia if we spend much more time than that.’ The detective is quiet for a worryingly long amount of time before he says. “If we want to conserve body heat, there’s only one way I know of.”

“Which is?”

John can feel the wave of heat radiate from Sherlock’s chest as he blushes. John looks up and Sherlock won’t meet his eye.

“Skin-to-skin contact.” 

It takes a minute to sink in. “Absolutely not.”

“John—”

“Nope. You and I are not going starkers in a shed in the great beyond—”

Sherlock snaps, “Would you prefer to freeze to death? Skin contact preserves body heat without losing it in layers of clothing. The most sensible solution would be to remove our clothing, press as much skin together as possible, and then use my coat as an insulator—”

_“No._ I’m not going to hug you while naked under your coat.”

“You’re being childish.”

John grinds his teeth so they won’t chatter for a long (cold) minute. “Fine. _Fine._ But we’re not doing this face to face.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “When I remove my coat, strip as quickly as possible and then I’ll wrap the coat back around us.”

John nods shortly. Once he’s stripped naked – pointedly NOT looking Sherlock in the eye – with Sherlock’s suit jacket around their legs and the Belstaff around their upper bodies, John realizes his big mistake by turning his back: John is now nude in Sherlock’s arms with the unmistakable heat of Sherlock’s cock and balls pressed into the crease at the top of his arse. Sherlock stays quiet but John can feel the detective’s uneven breathing against his cheek and neck.

“This was a bad idea,” John whispers.

Sherlock nods. John shifts again but stops almost immediately when he realizes that the hot press against his arse is getting distinctly more prominent. He inhales raggedly and Sherlock’s arms tremble. There’s no denying it: Sherlock is hard against his arse cheeks.

“Um….” _Brilliant, John. Just brilliant._

“Oh, God,” Sherlock mumbles. “I’m sorry, John, I’m trying not to—”

John can’t help himself; he spreads his legs apart a bit and presses up to his toes, dragging Sherlock’s cock through the valley of his ass. Sherlock’s hands clutch at John’s stomach as he gasps and drops his face to the crook of John’s neck. John arches his back again, gratified at the wounded noise Sherlock makes. His hips stutter forward into John’s by instinct.

“Stop,” Sherlock groans. “Stop teasing me, John; have pity.”

John shivers and grabs one of Sherlock’s hands to slide it down his stomach, guiding the long fingers around his own thick erection. Sherlock curses into the back of John’s neck and the long fingers set up a tight stroke of John’s cock as he thrusts helplessly into John’s arse. John’s fingers clutch at Sherlock’s hips, groaning as each stroke Sherlock makes on John’s cock matches a thrust forward against his arse. An embarrassingly short time later, John strains up onto the balls of his feet, moaning as Sherlock presses two fingers beneath John’s bollocks, and oh God, he’s coming so hard his knees shake. Sherlock bites down on the juncture of John’s neck and shoulder as his hips give one last hard thrust forward and paint the small of John’s back with his release.

Mycroft and his men show up approximately thirty-seven minutes later. Both John and Sherlock are decently dressed by then but Mycroft’s eyes dart from their flushed cheeks to the dark stain on the front of the Belstaff and raises a slim eyebrow as the detective and doctor trot out of the shed towards the waiting helicopter.


End file.
